lawyer, her Tourette’s-like crocodile smile. ‘She even had me convinced.’
Another cabinet was opened and closed. ‘I can’t believe that another woman would do this to you,’ Cathy said. ‘It’s disgusting. This is why women will never get ahead: other women are constantly cutting them off at the knees.’
Sara held her tongue, not in the mood for one of her mother’s feminist lectures.
Cathy offered, I can come home if you need me.’
Sara nearly dropped the phone. ‘No. I’m fine, really. Don’t ruin your vacation because of-‘
‘Shit,’ her mother hissed; it was rare that an expletive crossed her lips. I have to go. Your father just set himself on fire.’
‘Mama?’ Sara pressed the phone to her ear, but her mother had already hung up.
Sara held the phone in her hand, wondering if she should call back, deciding that if something had been really wrong, her mother would have sounded less annoyed. Finally, she returned the phone to the cradle and went over to the large plate glass window looking out into the motel parking lot. Sara had kept the drapes closed most of the morning, thinking sitting alone in the dark room was less bleak than staring out into the empty lot… Now, she opened the polyester drapes a few inches, letting in a thin ray of light.
The table and set of white plastic lawn chairs by the window seemed perfect companions to the dismal view. Sara adjusted the threadbare towel she’d draped over one of the chairs and sat down. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, but the thought of getting back into bed, sliding between the rough, yellowing sheets, was too much to bear.
She had walked across the street earlier in the morning to buy coffee and ended up purchasing some Comet with bleach additive and a sponge that smelled like it had already been used. Her thought had been to tidy the room, or at least make the bathroom less disgusting, but every time she thought about taking the supplies in hand and actually using them, Sara found that she didn’t have the energy. What’s more, if she was going to clean anything, it should be her own home.
She tried to list the chores she could be doing back in Grant County right now: folding the laundry piled on the bed in the spare room, fixing the leak in the bathroom sink, taking the dogs for a walk around the lake. Of course, the reality was that Sara had done none of these tasks in the weeks since she’d closed the clinic. For the most part, she’d sat around the house brooding about the lawsuit. When her sister called from Atlanta, Sara had talked about the lawsuit. When Jeffrey got home from work, she had talked about the lawsuit.
She had become so obsessed with discussing the suit that finally, her mother had snapped, ‘For the love of God, Sara, do something. Even patients in mental homes have to weave baskets.’
Unfortunately, getting out of the house only exacerbated the problem. Whether Sara was at the grocery store or picking up Jeffrey’s suits from the cleaners or even raking leaves in the front yard, she had felt people’s eyes on her. Not just that, but she’d felt their disapproval. The few times she’d talked to anyone, the conversations had been brief if not downright cold. Sara hadn’t told anyone about these exchanges – not Jeffrey, not her family – but she had found herself sinking deeper and deeper into depression with each encounter.
And now, courtesy of Lena Adams, Sara had one more failure to add to her list. How could she have been so easily tricked? How could she have been so utterly idiotic? All night, Sara had tried to parse each moment of her time with Lena, picking apart the seconds, trying to see how she could have acted differently, how she could have changed the outcome. Nothing came to mind except her own glaring stupidity.
Lena had been up on her knees in bed, the restraints keeping her from moving any farther away. As soon as Jeffrey and the sheriff left, she relaxed, her arms going limp.
Sara had
Another cabinet was opened and closed. ‘I can’t believe that another woman would do this to you,’ Cathy said. ‘It’s disgusting. This is why women will never get ahead: other women are constantly cutting them off at the knees.’
Sara held her tongue, not in the mood for one of her mother’s feminist lectures.
Cathy offered, I can come home if you need me.’
Sara nearly dropped the phone. ‘No. I’m fine, really. Don’t ruin your vacation because of-‘
‘Shit,’ her mother hissed; it was rare that an expletive crossed her lips. I have to go. Your father just set himself on fire.’
‘Mama?’ Sara pressed the phone to her ear, but her mother had already hung up.
Sara held the phone in her hand, wondering if she should call back, deciding that if something had been really wrong, her mother would have sounded less annoyed. Finally, she returned the phone to the cradle and went over to the large plate glass window looking out into the motel parking lot. Sara had kept the drapes closed most of the morning, thinking sitting alone in the dark room was less bleak than staring out into the empty lot… Now, she opened the polyester drapes a few inches, letting in a thin ray of light.
The table and set of white plastic lawn chairs by the window seemed perfect companions to the dismal view. Sara adjusted the threadbare towel she’d draped over one of the chairs and sat down. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, but the thought of getting back into bed, sliding between the rough, yellowing sheets, was too much to bear.
She had walked across the street earlier in the morning to buy coffee and ended up purchasing some Comet with bleach additive and a sponge that smelled like it had already been used. Her thought had been to tidy the room, or at least make the bathroom less disgusting, but every time she thought about taking the supplies in hand and actually using them, Sara found that she didn’t have the energy. What’s more, if she was going to clean anything, it should be her own home.
She tried to list the chores she could be doing back in Grant County right now: folding the laundry piled on the bed in the spare room, fixing the leak in the bathroom sink, taking the dogs for a walk around the lake. Of course, the reality was that Sara had done none of these tasks in the weeks since she’d closed the clinic. For the most part, she’d sat around the house brooding about the lawsuit. When her sister called from Atlanta, Sara had talked about the lawsuit. When Jeffrey got home from work, she had talked about the lawsuit.
She had become so obsessed with discussing the suit that finally, her mother had snapped, ‘For the love of God, Sara, do something. Even patients in mental homes have to weave baskets.’
Unfortunately, getting out of the house only exacerbated the problem. Whether Sara was at the grocery store or picking up Jeffrey’s suits from the cleaners or even raking leaves in the front yard, she had felt people’s eyes on her. Not just that, but she’d felt their disapproval. The few times she’d talked to anyone, the conversations had been brief if not downright cold. Sara hadn’t told anyone about these exchanges – not Jeffrey, not her family – but she had found herself sinking deeper and deeper into depression with each encounter.
And now, courtesy of Lena Adams, Sara had one more failure to add to her list. How could she have been so easily tricked? How could she have been so utterly idiotic? All night, Sara had tried to parse each moment of her time with Lena, picking apart the seconds, trying to see how she could have acted differently, how she could have changed the outcome. Nothing came to mind except her own glaring stupidity.
Lena had been up on her knees in bed, the restraints keeping her from moving any farther away. As soon as Jeffrey and the sheriff left, she relaxed, her arms going limp.
Sara had
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